See Jane Ride
by dammit.taken
Summary: Jane Lane attends BFAC and is assigned an art project. It takes her places she would have never dreamed of.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Is it art?**

Jane sat on her couch, looking at her latest art project; realizing how much it had changed her life these last three months.

The tires were dirty, partially worn, but the tread was still deep enough to hold on Boston's steepest hills. The saddle, while worn, was comfortable. And the way the bicycle rode made up for the amount of money she'd spent on it. The handlebars and well-worn grips were almost sensual in how much feedback it gave her as she rode.

"Art project. Heh." Jane remembered the project; her professor asking each student to build a functional piece of art, something that had utilitarian use. Jane's choice was her bicycle.

It originally started out as an advertisement in the school paper- an older mountain bike for sale. It stood out thanks to the incredibly bad spelling. " _Cannindale M600 CAD 3 mountin bik, Geers don't shift, may work. Breaks stuck. $50 OBO_."

"Lots of love invested. Love, time... and pain." Jane looked down at her left knee. The oozing blood still thick from her latest crash. Then she looked over at her helmet. Painted flat black along with her body armor kit; downhiller's body armor.

She stood up, wincing at the pain from her torn skin, and walked to her bicycle. She slipped her hand on the right grip and squeezed, the rear brake engaging. "How I love thee, oh beauteous disc brake." A giggle, then she hobbled to her bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping in immediately, the blood caked on her knee coming off as the water sluiced down her lean figure.

After she dried off, she applied some antiseptic ointment to her latest battle scar and slipped into her sleep-pants and a baggy t-shirt. Then she settled down on her couch and pulled out her sketch book, waiting for pictures to spring forth.

As she drew, she reminisced over the first few experiences with the bicycle. The trip to the bike shop, and the sad look on the mechanic's face, especially once he told her the estimate for repair. Jane could still remember how shocked she was, then the way the mechanic said, "There's another way. You could convert it. I'll help with some old parts, if you want..."

A couple hundred dollars later, she had a single speed mountain bike. It was flat black, no stickers, just a conglomeration of titanium, aluminum, and stainless steel. A used five-inch travel suspension fork, rear disc brake, and a doohickey called a Rollenlager to keep tension on the chain; all working together to make the bike useable.

Jane took the time to braze a small tab onto the frame for her video camera as she rode around Boston. Jane initially thought about a "helmet cam", but the prospect of dropping her helmet or crashing made the idea seem foolish. Yeah, the bicycle was useable.

"Useable, hell. More like a deathtrap." She looked at her fridge and saw the citation. It was Jane's second ticket for "speeding". Bombing down a hill at nearly fifty miles an hour from a closed parking garage. The motorcycle cop laughing as he wrote the ticket. The fact a slim woman, an art student no less, was filming her adventures at "warp speed' up and down Boston's hills struck him as funny, especially since she was wearing motocross armor.

It was her second ticket in three months.

She played her production; it started out with some footage of her struggling to ride up a hill, regretting the single speed, the mechanic, and the money and effort spent making the piece-o-crap worthy.

"Piece-O-Crap. Hell, you got me my first Four-Point-Oh." Jane laughed, then gasped at the pain of her two newly broken ribs. Body armor didn't protect the ribs when hit from the side, between the armor's front and back pieces. Especially from titanium handlebars.

She still remembered the laughs from her fellow students as she gave the presentation, her bicycle sitting underneath her, balancing by keeping the front tire turned sideways, gently sliding her feet from side to side on the tire to keep her balance. The video presentation left everyone in class stunned, the footage of her wrecking into a newspaper dispenser, then the policewoman giving her first ticket for "speeding". It was for doing forty, she said. Forty, on a bicycle, in a twenty-five zone.

The best part of her video, per her classmates, was her strapping on her armor, starting in just underwear, then her clothing, then the armor and shin guards, finally the gloves and helmet, cursing the armor and her bicycle the whole time. Several of the guys in class looked at her in a new light, obviously admiring her "presentation". The women just chuckled or gave her dirty looks; most were fighting the "freshman fifteen", twenty, or even forty.

The running commentary she edited in was riotous as she explained how much she hated the bike, then went into detail over the stripping and repainting and refinishing of the frame. Then the assembly; Jane was still proud she did almost all of it. And finally the first ride, with Jane falling off the bike the first ten feet.

The subsequent section of video revealed her first broken bone. A rib fractured as she fell while trying to avoid a jogger zoning out with headphones. Body armor was purchased shortly thereafter.

When she finished her art presentation, Jane received an applause that almost made her cry. Her professor walked up to her and just smiled, declaring her project the first of its kind at BFAC and perhaps the best he'd seen in his tenure.

Jane looked at her bike and smiled, knowing full well it demanded a price in blood, and she was happy to keep the habit fed. The price of some pain was easily worth the stress relief as well as the fringe benefits of aerobic activity and adrenalin-laced rushes. Then she opened her laptop and started typing out an e-mail

 _Yo, amiga!_

 _I got my grade today. 4.0 for a bicycle painted flat black and some video footage. I fell on a celebration ride afterward, and got a couple more broken ribs, as well as really scraping up my knee. The campus doctor told me to stay off Piece-O-Crap for a week or two, but she winked at me, cuz she knows I'll be on tomorrow. I think I have a new lover, named PoC._

 _I'm not working the next couple days, my boss keeps trying to tell me the other bike messengers are starting to pull my antics. One broke his wrist when he dropped a seven-footer with his bag on, and he's gonna be out at least two months._

 _I hope your last writing project turned out as good as I thought, though your GPA can't improve much. I've been toying with getting a second bike so you can ride with me, if you want. I promise not to go too crazy on you, if you do._

 _Anyway, I'll be coming by this weekend if I can. I'm probably gonna ride over, if it's not raining._

 _Jane  
_

She clicked send, then walked into her kitchenette and fixed up some ramen-spaghetti, adding some frozen meatballs for some flavor. Once she was done, she sat on her couch and clicked the TV on, drifting off to **Sick, Sad World** reruns, her bike still in view, tempting her.

 **Chapter 2: PoC-Marks**

Jane slipped the funny looking wrench in between the spokes and tightened the nipple, pulling the rim back in true another millimeter. When she spun the wheel around, it didn't shift to either side.

It didn't really matter for braking, since she had a disc brake, but the wobble in the wheel cost her the old helmet when she fell and crashed into a newspaper vending machine head first. Now she understood the bike mechanic back at Bean-Town Bikes when he said "...speed wobbles are a real headache".

Jane picked up the bike and flipped it right-side up, then she hung it on her brand new bike rack; a vertical pole with j-hooks. The pad up top screwed upward till it touched the ceiling and wedged in place.

Jane then sat down with her new helmet, a full-face motocross helmet, much like she saw professional downhillers using on the extreme sports network.

She pulled out her airbrush and kicked on the foot pedal for the compressor, a soft hum filling her apartment. Two minutes later, her once-blue-green-and-red helmet was now flat black. She set it down on her table to let it dry, taking care not to touch the enamel.

Jane munched on a sub leftover from the day before as she worked on her laptop to come up with a small logo. Her movies, five or ten minute mini-videos of her lunatic antics on what was now referred to PoC were well received at the bike store, though she took care not to be readily identifiable in any of them.

"J-Lane? Fast Lane? Those just don't sound right. Maybe Daria can think of something." Within a moment, she was dialing her best friend.

"Hey, Jane"

"Yo, Amiga. I was wondering..."

"No, I'm not going to ride with you. That last video clip scared me."

"It's not that...

"Oh." Daria's voice sounded embarrassed; Jane would normally have teased her, but was too focused on a moniker for her video production.

"Okay. Anyway, I need a hand thinking up a name for my little video productions."

"Did you try Fast Lane?" Daria's voice was mocking, and Jane found herself wishing they were in the same room. So she could choke her best friend within an inch of her life.

"Daria..."

"Okay. I need to go, amiga... Want to finish my paper, and I really want this grade. Talk to you tomorrow evening and maybe we'll hash something out then?"

"Okay. Good luck on your writing, Miss 3.98 GPA. Bye"

"Adios, amiga." The phone went dead and Jane looked at her screen. Nothing came to mind.

When she picked up her helmet, it was ready for the second coat, so she applied it, watching the gloss fade to matte as the paint dried. She leaned closer and took a sniff, giggling as the odor tickled her nose, then she set it back down, letting it dry.

Jane finished her sub and walked back to her bike, looking at the worn grips, now the lock-on variety. Slip-ons died fast in the damp weather, and losing a grip at thirty or more miles an hour was a Bad Thing. She reached down and held the grip, savoring the way it fit her hand, then she squeezed the brake lever. The new pads worked great in all weather, not just when it was warm out.

Jane let go of her bike, knowing this semester could be her last with PoC. The frame was showing too much fatigue stress. The messenger job was actually more brutal on the frame since there was so much pedaling involved.

A soft sigh, and she turned the light out, walking to her bedroom. Once inside, she set the alarm for 8 AM. Saturdays were still busy, even for the 9 to 1 Messenger shift.

She flicked the switch off and stripped, the fractures on her ribs aching only slightly. Jane dropped her clothes on the floor and crawled into bed naked, the way she preferred now since all the cuts and scrapes seemed to stick more to the clothes than her bedding. And the blood stains were harder to get out of her clothes.

When the alarm went off at 8, Jane was already awake, just savoring the solitude of an end-unit apartment in a business district. Normally noisy during working hours, it was peaceful on weekends and off-hours, except when her downstairs neighbor had his girlfriend over.

Jane slid her bike shorts on first, then one of several cycling bras, modified sport-bras with extra wide shoulder material to handle backpacks or Camel-Baks. She slipped her helmet in the messenger bag, content the paint was fully cured, then followed it with her armor, it barely fitting in the bag.

Her socks and shoes came next, followed by a micro-fiber shirt and a fleece long sleeve. Her windbreaker was always in its spot in her lower water bottle holder. The Camel-Bak was all she needed for hydration.

Jane hoisted her bike off the rack and shouldered her Camel-Bak and messenger bag, then she opened the door and walked them down the stairs to the foyer.

Within moments she was pedaling slowly to the courier's office. The armor and helmet still in her bag, she enjoyed the short ride because it was where she actually got to _start_ her day.

Jane left her bike in the rack out front. Nobody in their right mind would steal any of the bikes in the rack. Every one was completely unique, like DNA or a fingerprint; an unarmed guard also kept watch. Each bike was priceless to it's owner, as well as the messenger service.

She walked into the office and picked up some route sheets set in one small stack. The pick-ups were local, though the deliveries were up one of the steeper hills. Most off the messengers now left those jobs for Jane; her cycling antics were becoming legendary in the tight group of urban riders, even the street-bmxers.

Another glance at the first job's delivery point; she smiled, all destined for one office building. Before she left, she wrote her name next to the deliveries on the main route sheet.

"Hey, Jane! You okay to ride? Your ribs..."

"My ribs are almost fully healed. It only hurts when I breathe." Her boss laughed, knowing she would work unless she broke both legs.

"Be safe. No fifteen-step drops over rails. You hear me?" Her smiled and threw her a small towel; it was for wiping her sweat off when she made a delivery. Some of the customers abhorred sweaty messengers in their office, even if he or she was delivering something that absolutely couldn't wait for "tomorrow".

"It was a seven-step, over a mailbox." Jane giggled as she strapped her armor on. Then she slipped her work helmet on, a standard cycling helmet with garish colors and the words "ACME Couriers" on each side. Her own full-face she left on his desk, where he picked it up and admired the construction.

"Your new one? Such a nice shade of, uh... flat black." The wry grin on his face said everything.

Jane just smiled in return and walked out.

She headed out the door, excited to get in the saddle. When she got to her bike the guard smiled, then turned his attention back to the TV he was watching.

Ten minutes later she was picking up the last envelope, her messenger bag softly swinging since there was almost no real weight keeping it steady. Several envelopes, a legal document, and some blueprints. She started forward, cranking heavily up the hill, her legs burning with the struggle.

When she reached the top of the hill, she cruised at her usual pace; fast, but not exhaustive. The warehouse receiver took her packages, eyeing Jane, obviously pleased with what he saw. A slim athletic figure, lean, but shaped especially nice from the waist down.. The armor, almost BDSM, covered her chest, though she was obviously small breasted. He sucked his breath in as he watched her walk.

"Hey, uh... You..." The man was trying not to stare.

"Just a poor college student. No time for love. Sorry." Jane stifled a laugh as she walked out, her next stop only a mile away. Cycling got her hit on more than walking around naked in class would have, especially by older men.

Jane locked her bike and ran up the stairs leading to the entrance for the next pick-up. When she entered the building, the receptionist took one look and called her over.

"ACME?"

"Yup. Whatcha got?" Jane recognized the girl behind the counter; one of her fellow students. "Emily... hey."

"Heya Jane. So this is you? You're a messenger? Seems kinda... fun." Emily looked at her wistfully, remembering the video Jane gave to review for her final project last semester.

"It's got its days. Cold weather and rain suck, but the pay is good. And ACME lets us work as we want, we're not locked to particular shifts. Where's the package?"

Emily slid a large envelope across the counter, along with a small box wrapped very securely. "Hard drives; so please be careful. They're for the owner of this..." She gestured across the countertop, indicating the building.

"Oooh. Guess I better be especially careful. See ya on Monday, Em. Good seeing ya."

The receptionist watched her fellow student walk out, the flat-black plastic sheathing her torso creaking softly. Emily sighed, wondering what it would be like to have that kind of freedom.

Jane rode smoothly down the hill, her cycling computer indicating twenty seven miles an hour. Her tires were dancing across the pavement as she leaned softly into the turn, then she tapped her brake when she saw the next delivery point. A construction site teeming with men in hard-hats. Jane wasn't enthused; they were the most relentless when it came to flirting with her.

She rode up to the trailer out front and set her bike against the railing amidst the few men not actively busy. One whistled as she knocked on the door. The door opened and an older man took in her helmet and armor, then he smiled.

"ACME. Damn, you guys are fast. Thanks, one of my architects lost his hard-drive early this morning... Come in, please."

Jane looked at her bike and decided it was okay so she walked into the trailer.

The old man caught her glance and said, "Your bike will be okay. I promise."

He turned around and gestured a couple desks down where one man sat with his lap-top opened up, the hard-drive sitting on his desk.

Jane walked up and set the package down, then handed the envelope to him.

"Here ya go. Thanks for choosing ACME Couriers, sir." Jane started walking back out when the older man stopped her.

He held out his hand and slipped a note into hers. "Thanks. You just saved my company thousands of dollars; we need an estimate in by noon, and you just saved the bacon."

Jane walked down the stair, the C-note in her hand stealing her breath away. "Cool."  
Jane looked at her itinerary and realized there were no more stops. The final page was a note from her boss telling her to enjoy the rest of the Saturday.

A smile crossed her face as she pedaled away, excited to be free for a full afternoon.

When she was coasting down a sweeping parking lot using a shortcut, she heard the "tink' sound after bunny-hopping a speed bump. The sound caused her to stop at the next intersection- the vibration in her bike's frame was giving her butterflies. When she looked down at her bike, she almost fell off.

"DAMMIT TO HELL! Not now!"

The lower tube was cracked; as Jane flexed the frame, she saw the gap open between the head tube and lower tube. A tear fell, knowing this time had been coming. The frame was aluminum, after all.

Jane rode back to the dispatch office slowly, fearful the frame would fail completely.  
When she pulled up, she set the bike in the rack carefully, then walked inside.

"Hey, Janey... How'd the..." Her boss stopped mid-sentence seeing the forlorn look on her face. "What happened?"

"Piece-O-Crap fatigue-cracked. Bottom tube at the head tube. My deliveries are done..." Jane sighed as she handed the helmet and signed receipts to her boss, then grabbed her helmet.

"I can't even break my new helmet in..." Jane shrugged then smiled and said, "I gotta go. Maybe I can find a frame today. Thanks for letting me have the rest  
of the day off."

Jane rode home slowly, picking up a Penny-Trader on the way, as well as the local newspaper.

 **Chapter 3: The Replacement**

Jane circled the advertisement in the Penny-Trader, now up to five possible replacements for the "urban assault bike". PoC, as she'd been calling it.

The frame sat on the vertical rack, its place of honor at the top. She had cried when she took it apart, feeling all the anguish of losing a pet... or even a loved one.

As she made the calls, one thing became very clear. Most of the bikes were either too large or too expensive. And the Cannondale frame warranty was out since she had brazed on the camera mount.

In desperation, she called the final phone number. The line rang twice, then a guy's voice came over the line.

"Hello?"

"Hi, I'm calling about the bicycle for sale in the..."

"Sold. Sorry, you missed out. Bye." The man was gone before she could even respond.

"Damn. I need a bike for work by Monday." Not quite panicking, she decided to do some thrift and used-bike-store shopping. Maybe she would run into a decent frame that way.

Jane went jogging rather than drive around; something she'd almost forgotten how to do since PoC came into her life. She settled into her easy stride and loped down the hill towards the bike store. There were always some cheap bikes on consignment there, and maybe she could pick one up if she did some part-time work at the shop.

When she approached the shop, her legs were feeling like stretched rubber bands. Flexible, almost too loose. When she opened the door, one of the mechanics heard the cow-bell attached to the door clang. Then he saw her when he looked up.

"Hey, Jane. Where's your bike?"

"Dead. I snapped my bottom tube at the head tube-weld." The look on her face said it all; she was heartbroken.

"Jane, it was aluminum. That metal fatigues, and when it's weakened enough, it snaps. You're lucky you didn't crash and break it. You could have been hurt." He walked over to Jane and smiled, then said, "Follow me."

Jane walked back with him, keenly aware she was going into the back of a bike store while lots of other customers were stuck waiting for service.

"Derek, shouldn't I wait in line? Like all the other customers?"

"You're not a regular customer. Your video clips are getting some serious notoriety, girl." He smiled as they went further into the back, then he said, "I have something to show you. You might not like it, but nobody else can justify using it."

He moved some boxes out of the way, then he opened another door. The water heater and a gas furnace were tucked in the small space, along with some bike frames. He hefted one, then pulled it out.

"Here. This is what you need. Custom chromoly frame. Head-tube corrected for a five inch travel fork. This frame is a few years old, and nobody back then had a reliable five inch suspension fork unless they were professionally competing in downhill."

Jane picked up the frame, surprised at how balanced it was. The weight wasn't as bad as she was afraid of, and when she plucked it, the chromoly steel rang out.

When she moved it into the light, she saw it was drab olive. Matte finished, the paint was oxidizing.

"How much?"

"Take it. Nobody even knows its still back here." The tall mechanic just smiled at the younger woman, sensing her thrill at the bike frame.

"But, Derek..." Jane was entranced with the frame. The only writing on it was a small number 15 on the seat tube, indicating a fifteen inch frame, the same as her Cannondale. The rear triangle even had a disc brake mount.

"But nothing. Take it. Seriously."

She beamed as she held the frame up under the fluorescent lights, admiring the clean lines and welds. She had taken some welding classes her first year, and was told she was good. Her skill was nowhere as precise at what she saw in her hands.

"Just one favor..." Derek chuckled, then said, "Promise me you'll sneak a shot of our shop in your video clips. You have no idea how many people come by and say they saw you. You're becoming a real live Urban Legend."

Jane walked up to the front of the store, the mechanic coming behind her. She turned one last time but he waved her out the door. Jane walked home, her new frame feeling exciting. It was even more gorgeous in sunlight.

Jane was up till nearly 10 PM assembling the bike. The crank-set was the hardest part, the olive paint left some overspray in the bearing cup-threads, but after several false starts, she got it running in smoothly.

The headset was fairly easy, though the banging on the bearing cups should have annoyed her downstairs neighbor. It didn't though. His girlfriend could have been waking the dead with her noise.

The wheels were next, then the chain. By the time Jane was done with the chain, her hands were filthy. Undeterred, she attached the stem and handlebars, then set up her brake. The seat was last, just a quick swap.

Jane topped off her tire pressure and looked at the clock. 10 PM exactly. Then she got a crazy idea.

Jane slipped her armor on over her sweatshirt, then walked the bike to the door. After she grabbed her helmet, she opened the door and started down the stairs.

Her first mile was spent feeling out the frame. It flexed more, but the flex was compliant, not elastic. The bicycle also didn't skip around as much. In retrospect, she realized her components needed some real work, and the rebuild probably was helping a lot.

When she came to the first climb, she heard the clacketty-clack of several skateboarders riding a loading dock and some handrails. Jane pulled up and watched for several minutes, admiring the derring-do as the young men hurled their bodies over the handrails and landing, sometimes flippin the skateboard, other times falling badly and launching the board.

One guy fell on the handrail, literally, barely stopping real damage by somehow getting his hands on the rail first. He still toppled as the other guys laughed. When he got up, he was limping, but he had a grin.

The next one missed the rail entirely, his board shooting out across the street.

Jane stopped it with her front tire.

"Hey, thanks, dude. Oh. Um, dudette." He started to turn around when he saw her armor and helmet. "Holy sh... Hey guys, check it out. It's that chick in the videos."

Jane was mildly embarrassed as the four other guys rode up. The one that fell on the rail was even riding, though he was leaning off to one side as he pushed.

"Wow, you got some moves." The first guy was talking to her.

"Thanks." She watched the men. They weren't any younger than she was, in fact they looked older. A fleeting moment of concern passed, then she realized she was among equals, not a lamb for slaughter.

"You go fast on that thing?" The one who fell was talking now. He was sitting on his skateboard now.

"This one is new. I snapped a weld on my old frame yesterday. But I've got a speeding ticket for over forty in a twenty five." Jane grinned when she saw her standing climb several levels in their eyes.

"Cool."

Jane eased back on her bike and watched them go back to riding the rails and loading dock. She balanced the bike with the handlebar sideways, her feet on either side of the fork, a push and shove either way to stay balanced.

After several more minutes, she pedaled the rest of the way up the hill. When she reached the top, there were some BMXers grinding a high ledge on a planter, their bicycle pegs sending sparks showering as they slid.

One of the them did a wheelie across a long expanse, then spun around and rode backwards a good distance. He almost ran into Jane, but she moved out of his way first.

"Whoa. Startled me."

"Sorry, just watching. Good tricks." Jane watched him still riding backwards; his balance was incredible.

"Hey, you're that UA-Biker chick, aren't you?" Another rider came up, checking out her armor and bike. He nodded, then smiled.

"Yeah, I guess." Jane was noticing a trend now. Riding at night was going to figure in her future for sure. The nighttime scene was heavier- more underground, but much more intense. Besides,all these guys were attractive, if not in the normal sense. Even the skateboarders.

"Way cool. How did you get the speed for the bank-gap? Ten stairs and a newspaper vending thingie. You cleared it all." He looked down at his friend, who was now doing a wheelie backwards. The other two were still doing grinds on the ledge.

"Speed? I part-time between art classes as a bike courier, so I've been all over Boston looking for short cuts and scenery for classes. Sometimes the best short cuts are vertical, and when you have an eye for art..."

"Huh, cool. Well, if you ever wanna try a twenty-incher, holler. If you can go big on that tank, I'd like to see what you could do on..."

"Tank? Heh, try twenty five pounds. That's with this long travel fork." Jane chuckled at the BMXer. She stood up and pushed the bike to him and he hefted it.

His eyes widened as he realized how light it was. "Dang. Now I know how you get the height. Most chicks can't even bunny." He let her pick up his bike; she grimaced when she realized how much heavier it was.

"I'll stick with speed. This thing hauls ass." Jane smiled and sat back down on her bike.

The guy smiled again, then he turned around and said, "Good finally seeing ya. You got some status, ya know. Mad dap."

Jane continued her ride across through the neighborhood and finally came to the street she was looking for. She was almost hyperventilating as she thought of the turns coming up. After a soft push, she leaned in and started cranking like crazy.

The first big drop was at the aforementioned bank-drop. Ten steps, and if she misjudged, she would land on a newspaper vending machine. The same one she wrecked into several months ago in her first video. Jane cleared the steps and vending machine with little effort. Her heart was pounding as she went airborne over it.

The next drop was an elevated sidewalk running parallel to a lower sidewalk, not much of a drop, but it led down a steep embankment. Her shock sucked up the landing on the sidewalk another six feet below and she kept pedaling.

The last major drop was a long one, only three feet deep, but the gap was almost ten feet long. Jane missed it her first attempt two months ago, but cleared it every time since. Just like she did this time. The darkness was what made the drops and gaps fun; she knew them all, but the fact it was possibly midnight or later added to the thrill.

When Jane came to the wide turn, there was a cop car coming up the road. Cursing under her breath, she pushed herself harder, not wanting another ticket. The cop never even flashed his lights, then she realized nothing on her or the bike was reflective, or even shiny. She passed the police car at thirty two miles an hour.

A minute later, she was leaning hard into the final left turn when she felt her tires sliding across the cement. A slight glance and she saw forty two in her cycling computer. She started feathering her brake and the bike scrubbed off speed nicely, letting her roll to an easy stop in front of her apartment.

When Jane opened her door up, she set her helmet on the floor and dropped the armor off her chest, then she hung her new bike up. A quick bowl of cereal so she wouldn't be useless in the morning, and then she washed her face.

While she undressed and crawled into bed, she realized the name of her new bike. PoC-2.

 **Chapter 4:** _ **"Worth the Blood"**_

Jane started the video clip. The first sequence showed her hands fastening her body-armor, cinching each buckle, then tugging slightly on the strap to ensure a snug fit. Her voice chimed in over the music.

" _Some say the focal point of life is acquiring wealth. Some will say its pursuing happiness.  
And others will say it's the thrill of the journey along the way_."

A short pause, as the video camera focused on a bicycle with a flat finish in olive-green. There's a small bit of writing on the side of the bike, stenciled in fire-engine red. The words stand out like a sore thumb. PoC-2

The voice-over cuts in again, Jane's voice musical as she spoke. " _So anyway, making this video is hopefully gonna do all three for me_."

Another fade as the camera picked up her helmet, the phrase "PoC Marks" standing out, also in fire-engine red.

A last voice-over as Jane spoke. _"Enjoy the ride_."

The next sequence showed Jane bunny-hopping a long gap and coming up short. Her body flew over the handle bars as the rear tire clipped the ledge and somersaulted her. She landed in a heap as some nearby BMXers came running up. One of them was riding a wheelie, but he ditched his bike to check on her.

Jane sat up, laughing, her helmet crooked on her head. She got up and walked back the bicycle, inspecting it before sitting and starting over again. She cleared it the second try. The music in the background was interesting, very Garage-Bandy, raw, even visceral. Mystik Spiral's newest sound, done for her video.

Jane paused the video, thinking about the fall several days before. She was lucky she got away without getting hurt, but her newfound friends on the BMX bikes pushed her to never give up. Bad influence? Or trying to help her tap her unknown potential.? The skateboarders were just as bad for pushing her.

She started the video again, watching the next sequence. It focused on several skateboarders trying to slide down a long handrail with three kinks. The first time each one tried he fell hard, one even snapping his board as he landed.

The video unfocused, then a close up of the board, the break just in front of the rear truck. Her voice-over broke in again.

" _Is it worth the price in damaged goods?_ "

Then the video clip showed another skater falling on the rail after almost clearing it, landing on his crotch at the very end and collapsing.

" _Whether those goods are your bike, board, or body_..."

The clip went on, showing the skater laying on the ground, writhing in agony as his friends looked on, laughing.

"... _Or the loss of dignity?_ "

Then the video faded out, tuning back in a second later as the skater who landed on his sack slides the entire rail and comes off backwards, his friends and Jane hooting and hollering.

" _Damn straight it is! Nothing ventured_..."

The video feed panned to Jane's bike-cam showing the same rail approaching at high speed, several skaters in the way on the lower landing. The view was disoriented as the bike-cam view faded out, another view coming in as one of the skaters was filming.

Jane bunny hopped the rail, the skaters below diving out of the way as they laughed; Jane landing in the street nearly ten feet down and disappearing from view.

".. _Nothing gained!_ "

Jane stopped the video again, still feeling adrenalin from the drop. It hit her like a brick and she was almost hyperventilating. Her knees went weak as she thought of trying it again. "Stupid skaters pushing me like that. Damn... They don't know what fear is!"

Jane got up and walked to the fridge, pulling a Hyper-Cola out and popping the top, listening to the bubbles fizz. She sat back down and restarted the video, relishing how much better Hyper-Cola was when compared to her old drink, Ultra-Cola. Rumor had it a new drink would be coming out to join the over-caffeinated carbonated concoctions.

The music in the video was- for once- enjoyable; Jane's brother and his friends actually played quite well when they tried. The next sequence was of Jane from a trailing view, obviously shot from a car. When her voice came back over, the camera shifted to her bike-cam.

" _The speed limit is twenty-five here. I'm doing forty three. Don't speed, it's against the law_."

The video screen split, her riding on one side, and the ticket on the other- it was the second one she received. Then it went back to the bike cam, the road moving past at a blur. When everything started slowing down, the view panned as Jane turned, then a moment of freefall followed by a jarring motion as the camera jiggled.

The view started going sideways then, eventually ending in some wild views of the sky and ground. When the view went normal again, Jane's helmet was in front of the camera, her visage half hidden as she checked the camera and bike. Her voice-over started again.

" _See? Speed is bad_." A heavy solo guitar riff followed, then trailed off as her voice whispered, " _And freaking expensive_."

Another camera faded in, this time showing her bicycle with a bent handlebar and a folded back rim. After some more Mystik Spiral cut in, the screen faded as a bunch of dollar signs scrolled up the screen. When they finally cleared, the feed focused on the entrance to a bicycle store.

The next section was a picture of Jane, only her body visible, carrying a new handlebar and wheel-set as she left the bike store, the eventual rack-focus catching the bike store's name. Bean-Town Bikes.

Jane sighed as she thought of how nice Derek was; he put her on the flow list, getting free parts in return for video footage and advertisement. "Heh, a three-hundred dollar wheelset, a ninety dollar handlebar... all for some advertisement. Am I selling out?"

When she asked Derek the same thing when he offered her the parts, he assured her she wasn't selling out. She was taking advantage of a business venture. After all, she was planning on selling the video, possibly distributing it online. It was her professor's recommendation, for heaven's sake. "Run with it, Jane. See how far you can go!" had been his exact words.

She sat staring the computer sitting next to her laptop. The laptop was fine for small stuff, but video compilations and editing had forced her hand into buying a real workhorse. The new computer was a gift from her parents; Jane figured it was because they never really were there when she was growing up.

When she finally re-started the video, it panned to her bicycle, her new wheelset and handlebars were on the bike, flat black like everything but the frame and disc brake rotor on her back wheel. The voice-over carried on.

" _I started riding because I'm an art student in Boston. The assignment was to produce functional art. Now_..." there was a long pause as another sequence of Jane wrecked into newspaper vending machine. When she finally got up and took off her old helmet, two pieces flopped apart, only held together with the nylon straps.

 _"... I find myself calling this_..." Another sequence of Jane dropping a loading dock over a car at speed, flying out of camera range.

"... _Fanatical art_."

The next sequence was several skateboarders cruising down a hill, their bodies crouching low, arms wide for balance. The skaters all were sliding as they made a few turns, the wheels drifting across the tarmac of the streets, when one got speed wobbles and fell, bouncing and sliding, coming to a rest as his buddies kept going. The camera view drew in until the skater was up close.

He stood up slowly, his knees were scuffed, and his palms were bloody, as were his elbows and one shoulder. He grinned at the camera, wincing while he moved. His voice sounded amused as he yelled, " _Give blood! Skateboard!_ "

Jane voiced over again as the camera zoomed away from the skater, who was back on his board, pushing furiously after his friends.

" _He's Mike, a local skater and fellow art student. He wanted to get some tattoos, but realized road-rash made a more powerful statement. He's as fanatical about his art as I am about mine. His skin, his canvas_."

After another sequence of several other skaters doing kick-flips and heel-flips over a handrail, then several BMXers bunny-hopping the rail or grinding down it. After several minutes of music and video sequence, her voice-over started again.

" _We're all artists in one form or another, paying for our skills in blood, sweat, and sometimes tears. Our canvas is the street. Our brushes are skateboards, bicycles_..."

The final sequence showed several skaters and BMXers with a lone urban assult-biker, hanging out near a parking lot, doing various stunts and tricks. When Jane's voice-over started they all looked at the camera, everyone smiling.

" _Come paint with us_."

 **Chapter 5: Progress**

Jane sat on her couch after coming home from school. She had spent an hour working on a painting Daria wanted, stuck on the sky's coloring. Flustered, she sat down and checked her e-mail. When she read the one from her skater-friend Mike, she almost dropped her laptop.

 _Yo Jane-_

 _You're getting upwards of 8k hits daily on the website, and the number is growing daily. Prolly half of the comments are requests for more vid footage, and the other half are requests to buy the video. We gotta change servers and get something along enterprise lines, as my brother's little FTP server can't handle the volume. Also, I added a hyperlink in your name for your video section to accept donations. You're over $1500 in just over a week, so that should be testament to your audience. Jane, you could make some serious money doing this. Lemme know if you're interested._

 _My hands are okay, but my hip and shoulder are still pretty hammered from the eat-crap sequence you put on the Street Fanatics video, though I must admit, the whole "Give blood! Skateboard!" thing was so over the top I ended up hooking up with that girl you introduced me to last Friday night. After your video was played on a widescreen, she came up to me and, well, you know. Maybe Emily felt sorry for me, but I'm thanking you (yeah, I still can't believe it was HER!) for some Good Times._

 _The guys are working on a trip to New York in the next month or so, and we're wondering if you can make it. I know you got some plans with that brain chick, but maybe she'll let us borrow you for a day. Anyway, me and the guys may hit up some rails by the waterfront tonight. Been lots of cops around, so I don't think you want to show. A lot harder to run with a bike than a skate, and losing a skate is a lot cheaper too. We're off, dudette, so chill out and get them ribs healed._

 _Mike  
_

"Fifteen hundred dollars in donations? What the heck?" Jane set her Hyper-Cola down and closed her eyes, amazed some new-found friends would do something so generous. In retrospect, though, half of the people she rode with now were either art students or IT students, and in some cases, both. Most of them had a few screws loose.

Jane got up and opened her fridge, looking for some food that required minimal effort. Not finding any, she sighed and went back to her couch and sat down, contemplating the changes her bicycling had brought to her life. She was still close to Daria, and they often shared their life experiences. Daria was actively dating whereas Jane was spending most of her time involved in schoolwork and her "projects"- with insufficient time left for romance. As such, she realized Daria needed her privacy as much as Jane needed hers.

Add the fact Daria was now involved in a good relationship and hopefully falling in love- the lust part was already there. Jane sighed; her love-life had waned until now she wasn't dating anybody. Compared to her first two years at BFAC, the change was immense.

She started drifting off to the music playing on her radio when she heard a knock on the door.

"What the...?" Jane looked at her laptop, it was only 7 PM. She got up and grabbed her bathrobe and pulled it around her; she was wearing only a sportsbra and some pajama bottoms. When she cracked the door open, she smelled pizza.

"Yo, Janey... Howzit? We thought we would stop by and treat ya to some pizza. Cool?"

"Damn, guys..." Jane stepped back letting the skateboarder and his cyclist chick-friend in. "I really appreciate the..."

"Shush Jane. It's my treat." Mike smiled, then he handed her the pizza- there were two pies. When she stepped back, she opened the door further and let them in. The woman had a couple 2-liter bottles of Hyper-Cola, and she set them down on the kitchenette's counter, then looked for some cups.

"On the fridge, up top- I don't even bother with glasses anymore." Jane watched as she pulled several of the plastic cups down, then started pouring sodas for the three of them. Emily winked at her when Jane raised at eyebrow.

"So, watcha working on? New footage? Or you doing some painting?" Mike eyed her easel; the palette was sitting on her coffee table, and the painting on the canvas was a picture of a wave breaking on a lonely beach.

"Nothing really. Just enjoying some quiet. Or I was. Daria might be coming over, but she's most likely on a date with her boyfriend. They've been going to a lot of B-movie marathons at the campus theatre over at Raft."

"Raft. Huh, preppy school. No, I shouldn't say that. We're artsy types... " Mike paused as he wolfed his slice down whole. "... Well, we're all snobs as well." Mike then sat down on the floor, wincing as he bent his knees.

"You okay?" Jane sat down on the couch beside the other two skaters and watched the girl she shared several classes with tend to Mike's injuries. Emily, formerly the secretary for a large engineering and architectural firm based out of Boston, now avid cyclist and budding bike courier. She now had a job alongside Jane at ACME.

"He's fine. A little worn, but he claims its all in the name of art." Emily looked up at Jane and smiled, revealing a lot about the budding relationship growing between the two.

"Heh. And how's your ankle? I didn't see you limping as badly as you were in class yesterday." Jane looked directly at Emily; the fall the other girl had taken the other night hurt Jane just to think about it.

"Just a mild sprain. I'm glad you convinced me to get the body armor. If I wasn't wearing it when I fell..."

"I'd have less to play with... Ouch! Hey...!" Mike rubbed his arm where his new girlfriend hit him, grinning regardless.

"Hey, Mike. I need to ask a question about the website. Do you really think it's worth taking further?" Jane leaned back and waited for his answer as he chomped on another slice of pizza.

"Jane, lemme see your laptop... Thanks." Emily took it from her and started pecking away, her eyes narrowing as she entered passwords and waited for screens to open. "Here. See for yourself."

Jane took the laptop back and read, then she almost dropped the laptop again.

Mike was about to open his moutyh but Emily interupted. "Yeah, Jane. I'd say you have a potential career as a movie maker. Twelve thousand hits in twenty four hours. Over three hundred donations total, over fifty in the last day. All because of an art project gone wild." Emily laughed, then took a swallow of her soda. "Heck, you got me off my lazy butt. That should tell you something. I'm halfway through losing my freshman fifteen." Jane looked at her friend; Emily was still a novice at urban riding, but she still rode with them. Keeping up at ACME was no job for slouches, either.

Mike looked at his girlfriend and whispered in her ear, then reddened when she whispered back. Jane watched the exchange and smiled, knowing the two were enthralled with each other. Mike had a crush on Emily his freshman year. Now, the two were dating in part because of something Jane did. The feeling was wonderful.

"Hey guys, if you gotta keep me out of the convo, take it home." She laughed, then watched both of her friends blush.

"Umm, maybe." Mike slowly stood up, followed by Emily. When both were standing, Jane followed suit and picked up the empty pizza box, dropping it beside the trashcan when she walked past. "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you, Jane. See ya in class Tuesday, okay?"

"Sure thing, Mike. You still going skating tonight?" Jane knew the answer though. If Emily was with him now, chances were she'd spend the rest of the weekend with him.

"No. I'm not letting him go out. His shoulder is a mess, and you should se the bruise on his hip. I've been toying with trying to color-match it. Such pretty greens and purples..." Emily trailed off, then she kissed Mike on the cheek. "Maybe. I don't know if I want to share those colors..."

"Heh, I don't want to know. If it looks anything like my ribs did after I jacked myself on my handlebars..." Jane thought of the bruise just under her left breast; it was the size of a football and left her breathless if she sat down for too long and tried to stand up quickly.

"Anyway, have a good night Jane. Don't go riding tonight, please? It's still a little damp out from the rain. Slick."

"I promise, Em. As long as you promise me you'll buy at least a new frame and wheels soon. That thing you ride now is a death-trap." Jane thought of the mild-steel frame her friend rode. It was a cheap PayDay-quality bike, mass-produced and not exactly rugged. Luckily, Emily was just using it for commuting to and from class and doing part-time messenger work with it.

"I don't know. I need to get some new paints... running low on art supplies." The girl shrugged, weighing the two things; the look on her face made Jane uneasy.

"I can relate. Hasta la vista, compadres."

Emily took Mike's hand and stepped out; Jane watched them walk down the short hallway, then they disappeared from view as their steps echoed up the stairwell. Jane finally closed the door and walked back to her couch and picked up her phone, then she sat down and muted the TV volume. A quick dial, then a familiar voice over the phone.

"Hey amiga. Good to hear from you. How are your ribs?" Daria's voice was soft, somehow happier than normal.

"Sore, but healing. I've really been taking it easy..."

"No you haven't. I saw your new movie online. By the way, what are you doing with those donations? The Jane Lane Bike Fund? That was a touch of brilliance." Jane heard another voice in the background, then a giggle that definitely belonged to a male.

"No bike fund. PoC-2 is set up perfect. I might save up for a new camera, but between the 'rents getting me the media computer and getting freebies from Bean-Town Bikes, I'm actually living comfortably for the first time since I started BFAC. I'm not eating ramen or hot dogs every night." Jane looked at the desktop PC on her desk. It was a real powerhouse, much better than her laptop for making compiling and editing video for movies.

"No, just every other night. At least you still paint. Did you finish that wave painting?"

Jane looked at her easel; the painting was near completion, but still needed some color work on the sky. It was too cheerful. And considering it was for Daria, it need not be cheerful. "A bit more work. I'll have it finished by tomorrow night."

"Hmm. Um, Jane? Can I ask you a question?" Jane heard the inflection in her best friend's voice and suddenly felt like hanging up, knowing what was coming.

"Go ahead. You already know the answer." Jane had quit dating; her schoolwork, video production, and cycling left her with little time to spend pursuing romance.

"Well, I still have to ask. Jane, you need to get out more."

Jane snickered at the thought that now Daria was the one giving Jane advice on love. How different from two years ago. "I'll be fine, amiga. I'm just too busy right now to split time up any further. Suffering for my art or something."

Daria snorted, then said, "Whatever, Lane. I still hope you can come with us to the UFO Convention."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Some of the skaters and bikers are planning a trip to New York next month, and they want me filming and riding, but I'm free the rest of this one." Jane relaxed, anticipating some time with the freaks and geeks that frequent the conventions. Jane always felt like she belonged there.

"Alright. Well, I'm glad you called, but I need to get back to what I was doing..." Daria then broke out laughing, though Jane didn't hear what was said to her by her boyfriend.

"Whatever, Morgendorffer." Jane exchanged goodbyes, then hung up, knowing Daria was having a good night indeed. The thought made her smile that her friend wasn't as lonely as Jane thought she would be. Boston was still a big city; big enough for a lonely woman to get lost in.

When Jane went back to her website, she kept looking at the amount of money in donations being offered. Daria's words came back to her, then suddenly Jane was inspired. Mike had set up her website for free, adding his IT experience as well as graphic design major to produce a work of art. It would only be fair to him if she could help Emily out. The two obviously cared a lot about each other.

Her idea started to take form, and Jane smiled when she thought of talking to Derek at Bean-Town tomorrow. There were still several of the chromoly frames nobody remembered sitting in that closet. The long travel fork and wheelset would be worthy expenses, as well.

 **Chapter 6: Art is where you make it.**

Jane pedaled furiously up the hill as she tried to reach the crest. There were times she regretted a single speed, and this was one of them. When she finally reached the top, she looked around- this part of Boston was in an area college students didn't frequent for several reasons. Among them the fact it was lower class, supposedly heavy with gang violence, and there were very few friendly bars around.

But Jane was still stuck on an art project with her fellow student Emily; Emily was with her boyfriend Mike tonight, and Jane had decided to strike out alone. Forgoing her usually haunts, she set off for destination unknown. Which is how she ended up in a rough neighborhood with even more rough individuals lurking about.

As she pedaled through the neighborhood, two things became apparent; she was an outsider, neither Irish or Black , and she was a female, alone on a bicycle wearing some bizarre clothing. Wary, she slowed down as she pulled up to a convenience store, the windows protected by a sliding mesh gate of bars.

She locked her bike and helmet to a street-light and walked inside, her motocross armor creaking as she moved. The man behind the thick glass window looked at her oddly, then went back to the porn he was watching.

Jane pulled a Hyper-Cola out of the cooler, then grabbed a chocolate bar and a pack of gum. She walked back to the front as two black men walked in, one smelling of marijuana. A third man followed them; he was shorter, and quite muscular; a redhead with a fierce beard and broken nose, but he was laughing as the two men in front turned back and laughed as well.

Jane was done paying, trying to ignore the plaintive moans coming from the clerk's TV as he visually undressed her, but he gave her exact change, so she walked out feeling only partially molested. When she unlocked her bicycle, she heard a mute voice behind her. It was one of the two black men, and he was staring straight at her.

"You wan' some ganja, bei?"

"Um, no thanks. Trying to quit..." Jane looked around nervously; a sliver of fear insinuated itself in her gut, then it started growing.

"No problem mon. Just t'ought you might... for your exploits, mon..." He looked down at her and smiled, his teeth sparkling with the gold caps.

A second voice broke in, this time a heavy Bostonian accent. "Hey, is you that bikuh chick? The one what makes them movies?" When Jane turned, she saw the white man; he was standing close to her, almost too close. Jane suddenly felt very small and insignificant.

"Um, yeah." Her voice was little more than a squeak.

"Ahh, that's great! I was hoping you would ride ahh pahht of town sometime. Ya know, we gots some good drops'n shi... Stuff. You know. Heah in the "bad" pahht of town." He smiled, then the black man laughed, his baritone suddenly making Jane feel welcome.

A third voice spoke softly then. "Forgive my companions. Terrance is stoned and Matt is drunk. I'm Robert."

Jane turned and saw the third one- the second black. He was lean, but also very toned, his muscles rolling underneath his dark skin. He resembled a slightly thinner version of Mack, just much darker and with dreadlocks that reached well past his shoulders.

"Hi." Jane was still uneasy; although the laughter welcomed her, she was still nervous. Bad movies about lone girls meeting three strange men kept popping in her head.

"No worries, mon." Terrance smiled at her, then he held his hand out. Robert followed suit, though Jane caught a glimpse of his bracelet; it was made of bicycle chain links. Jane took their hands in turn, and though theirs engulfed hers, she shook each firmly.

"So, um... There's some good terrain around here?" Jane decided to take a risk. She figured she was going to have an interesting night regardless, though a chinese proverb about the phrase _interesting_ popped into her mind

"Heh, good terrain... you ride wit us and we can show ya... Oh yeah, lonely chick, t'ree guys. I feel ya." The white man was laughing again, and though he was inebriated, it wasn't enough to affect his balance. When Jane looked at his shoes, she saw they were heavily worn on the outer edges. Like Mike's were- and Mike wore his out from skateboarding.

The first guy, Terence, was sitting on the trunk of a Caprice; the car was a custom job, iridescent paint reflecting different hues and a set of "dubs'- some gigantic chrome wheels tucked under the fenders. He suddenly stood up and hollered to Robert, who threw a remote control to him. There was a chirp sound, then the trunk popped open. When Jane saw him reach inside, she got nervous again.

Until she saw him pulling out two skateboards. The front wheel of a bicycle was also visible, though it looked different from the usual ones she saw.

He held out a skateboard to the white man, who suddenly looked several years younger- he was maybe in his late twenties. Then Robert walked over and extricated a bicycle, though it had no brakes at all, just four pegs that were knurled and a low slung seat.

Terrance took his board and dropped it, though he caught it with his feet nose down, balancing on the tip and slowly spinning, his arms flared out in obvious style. Jane suddenly realized her companions were a new kind of urban rider. Matt, the white guy, just laughed and stood on his board with one foot, then started spinning on the back wheels, his other foot in the air. Jane lost count after thirty spins.

She turned her attention to Robert and watched him slowly pedal across the street, then he suddenly maneuvered the bike around, standing on the front wheel-pegs while holding the seat up in front of his chest. Jane dropped her helmet when she saw him then let go and flip the bike further over so it was in effect upside down, still rolling as he balanced.

For twenty minutes she watched the three men, one drunk, one stoned, and one sober. They all fell at various times, but every time somebody fell, he would get back and try again until finishing the maneuver.

Matt finally stopped and looked at the tallest one, Terrance. He was still flipping his board around on his feet, occasionally sliding or flipping and then kicking his board into the air and catching it mid-air between his sneakers. His balance was incredible, especially given his obviously affected state. He yelled, "Yo, T. Take a load off."

The two men then sat down beside her and started watching the third one, Robert.

He was still riding around, sometimes backwards, sometimes forwards, but almost always on only one wheel, sometimes walking around on his pegs, other times holding via handlebars only. Jane found herself wishing for her camera. The footage would have been incredible.

An hour later, Jane found herself sitting next to Robert in a small bar. It was muffled but loud; the music was some local punk act; the vocalist was a black girl that was otherwise a dead ringer for Andrea from high school, only with with bleach-blond dreadlocks. The pizza the four split was good, and Jane found herself enjoying their company. Robert appeared to be straightedge, his company odd considering his two friends' state of intoxication.

"So you work at an auto-body shop?" Jane was still surprised at the white man. He seemed to be basic white trash, his abuse of English would have made her old high school teach cry in pain. O'Neill cried a lot anyway, though.

"Yeah. Well, I'm da boss. It pays da bills. Someday I hope ta get into som'n bettuh, but I nevuh graduated school. No GED even."

"And he's the mon for cars. He did all the body work on Beauty, mon... Primo welding skills." Terrance pointed outside, his high fading as he gestured to the Caprice Classic. Jane giggled at the name, but somehow it seemed appropriate. The car rode very smooth when they took her to the bar, and though Jane's bike had to be partially disassembled to fit in the trunk, it still fit. Jane sat up front with Robert as they drove, the three men telling her about themselves.

"So you said you do art? What type?" Jane was still happy to meet another artist, though Terrance seemed a bit reserved even as he smiled a lot.

"He's a tagguh. Graffiti. He works only the Heaven-spots though. No fear a' heights. Or he's too stoned to cayeah. Though his day job is a mechanic. He works wit me." Terrance broke out laughing, his bass voice resonant in the car over Matt's comment. Jane started feeling an idea percolate...

"Hmm, I wonder..." Jane looked across at Terrance, his eyes seemed more friendly since his secret was out. "Terrance, is there any chance you could teach me how to...?"

"What you want to learn for, mon?" He narrowed his eyes, looking directly at her.

"I'm an artist... BFAC, you know..." Jane suddenly felt tiny again as she trailed off. His voice suggested something unpleasant, then Robert spoke up.

"Jane, a man's art is his own. Asking Terrance is like..." Robert was quiet as he spoke, but Jane sensed the authority in his voice.

"I'll do it. But one condition, mon..." Terrance was smiling again. "You teach me to use an paintbrush, mon. I teach you to tag. But you learn your own tag." He smiled and stuck his hand out to Jane. Jane took in it hers once again and pumped, sealing the deal.

Robert pulled into the parking lot close to her apartment a couple hours later; the other two men were already home. It turned out Matt was married; his wife was the vocalist at the bar they left earlier. The guys waited until the show was over to take her home.

Terrance lived with Robert in a row-house, though the street was very clean. It looked like a Norman Rockwell painting at night. Only a few retirees were out, sitting in chairs on their front porches, and even at the late hour several waved as Robert dropped his half-brother off. Robert offered to give Jane a ride back to her apartment.

Jane looked at him, wondering if there were any ulterior motives. After a brief pause, she realized she didn't care- she knew where he lived, and she was enjoying the companionship. "Sure," was all she said.

When Robert was about to let her out, she turned to him and said, "So what's your deal? You never really talked about yourself, other than you're really into flatland biking." Jane was acutely aware that he was left somewhat uncomfortable by the question, but he was intriguing.

"I just loaf about. I'm going to school right now, trying to get stuff done." Robert looked at her and shrugged like he had just lost a part of himself.

"Hmm, your two friends look up to you. You don't sound like somebody who is working on a GED." Jane suddenly realized she was prying- she stopped before she got any further.

"GED? Oops. I should have been more clear. I'm an engineering student at MIT." He smiled wryly, amused by Jane's befuddlement.

"MIT? Damn..." Jane's eyes bugged out, surprised he hung out with the two men from earlier. Then she recalled the resemblance between the two black men. "Wait, you and Terrance..."

"Yeah, I told you Terrance is my half-brother. I grew up in private academies, he grew up in the 'hood. He's as smart as me, maybe smarter. And Matt... That was my sister. She was the rebellious one in the family. Let me tell you, our parents tried disowning Marie. So I threatened them with quitting school."

"So you three are full-on family?" Jane couldn't help but smile. Three very different stories, bound by a desire to explore the reaches of urban riding. "Um, Robert, mind if I tag along with my bike and camera sometime? While you guys ride? And, do you, uh, think I can get some music from your sister's band for any resultant footage?"

"So you want to make another movie?"

"I have another project coming up. It's about the distinctions in Social Standing and Class and how society perceives art. I have a partner working on the literary part. You might have seen her in my last video. She's the one with the red body armor and red helmet." Jane thought about Emily and the bright red armor and the way it contrasted everything else she wore. In a way, it reminded Jane of her old red jacket. Jane then explained what she wanted to do in the movie. Daria had been to busy to help, and Jane knew she was finally in a worthy relationship. Emily had offered, so it was a natural progression.

"Distinctions in class. Hmmm." Robert looked at Jane, thinking hard about something.

"Um, we're trying to prove art has no boundaries of class. That's the actual project we were assigned." Jane hoped he understood; though if he was a law student, chances are he did.

"On one condition." Robert smiled again, this time his eyes were sparkling.

"What's that?" Jane suddenly felt thrilled, knowing she would like what she heard.

"Could I interest you in a movie sometime?"

"Oh. Sure." Jane grinned, correct in her feelings. "I rented a couple zombie movies, if you're free tonight..."

The two bicyclists spent the rest of the evening watching zombies take over the world.


	2. Chapter 2

Silence.

The woman sat on her bicycle looking down the trail. The ridgeline was to her right, a cliff-face to her left. A hundred yards or so ahead, there were two boulders a few feet apart. The trail thread its way between them, then it faded off to the left, a deep rut banking through a copse of trees. After another couple hundred yards of trees, the trail plunged off to the left, wrapping around the bases of more trees, many of them thicker in girth than her bicycle was long.

Once through the forest, then back onto a fire trail nearly five hundred feet below, ever going downhill. There were numerous small whoop-de-dos as well as a heavy rhythm section with deep ruts. It would be like riding the washboard from Hell, only there wasn't water at the bottom. It was thick gooey mud, and any loss in speed would be less-than-fun. After the rhythm section, there were two large "table-top" jumps, each one fifteen yards across the top with a steep launch and long drawn out landing.

The tabletops faded off into the distance; she could see them if she squinted, though the dust on her faceplate seemed to amplify the haze, not cut it.

"Gotta clean it..." She mumbled. She took a deep breath, then pulled the full-face helmet off, exulting in the freedom taking it off gave her face. It was one thing about down-hilling she still was adapting to. Bombing the streets of Boston was one thing. Somebody would find you, and ambulances were only fifteen minutes away at most.

Out here on the trails, cyclists were stuck until help arrived, whatever that meant. She didn't intend to find out, but still, a full-face helmet was better than a broken cranium- or worse. She shook her short-cropped black locks out, running her gloved fingers through her sweaty tresses. There was a fleeting moment of revulsion at the dirt and who-knows-what-else that she was wiping in her hair, but in the end, it all washed out. Besides, her gloves were most likely cleaner than her hair after the steep climbs and switchbacks coming up the trail.

Jane took a moment to spritz some lens cleaner on the peel-away on her visor. If it got really bad, she could pull one off in the saddle, but she prided herself in feeling the trail as much as seeing it. Why not; she had a good gravity machine with long-travel forks and a bullet-proof wheelset. Satisfied with the helmet's visor, she brushed her hair back and slipped the helmet back on, giving a tiny shake to get it in That Right Spot.

She leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and pondered the last two years. The thought raced away in her head as she did. A part-time job as a bike courier evolved into far more. She had a steady boyfriend; a guy who rode his own bicycle, his own way. No brakes on that thing; he was always moving, rolling... And as his bicycle rolled, he moved on it. Front pegs, back pegs, handlebars, even the frame itself. Flatland freestyle it was called... And it was breathtaking to watch him ride.

She managed a bicycle store part-time. The owner, the guy she thought was just the mechanic, entrusted her with the keys one cold winter day; a lot of the local riders would convene on the shop and hang out; there were two beat-up couches in the back of the store, and riders would go there to relax or work on their own bicycles. When Jane started getting pay-checks, he just smiled and told her she brought more business than the bicycles. Jane's free-riding videos were now something to be sought after; they often included skateboarding, freestyle, street-riding, and recently, some clips of Jane and her friends bombing the trails. She had more money now than she had ever had thanks to video sales, and now she lived with her boyfriend. Juggling classes with riding and work was a bear at times, but she still managed to find time to keep her name on the Dean's List. Jane Lane, honor student. Maybe not a summa cum laude student, but that was okay. None of _them_ rode a bicycle like she did.

When she opened her eyes, everything was more vivid. Colors were sharper, and she could feel the trail beneath her tires.

She flicked the button on the tiny camera and said, "Now."

The first hundred yards always started slowly, but in seconds she was already closing on the boulders with too much speed. She feathered the front brake to keep from skidding. " _Skidding is bad, Lane_ ," she thought. " _Skidding means you just lost traction on one of your two contact surfaces with the ground. Skidding means you no longer feel the trail_."

She dipped the handlebars, her body a foot behind the seat with her chest armor even with the back edge. The boulders passed in a flash, and she let the brake off. The high-speed fade was one of her favorite sections. She swayed her body off to the left, letting her speed carry her up the embankment. By the time she was near the end, she was moving upwards of thirty miles an hour. Her shocks remained compliant, sucking up bump, root, and rock as she rolled over them. At the last second, she squeezed both brakes hard to scrub her speed, then let got of both once her speed dropped; there was no other way to make the next section without total control.

Suddenly she was at the drop-off. She centered herself for the plunge; it was a good ten-foot drop over a dry creek. The trail continued on, and she didn't even feel her legs flex with the landing. The woods were fun, weaving between the mighty boles with saplings and underbrush trying to hold her back. She reveled in the frantic dipping under tree branches, some of them whipping into her helmet, others smacking her arms and hands. It didn't matter; in less than a minute the trees opened up and suddenly she was on the fire trail.

"Speeeeeeed!" Jane let out a triumphant whoop as she barreled down the trail. The first whoop-de-dos almost snuck up on her, but she caught them in time, scrubbing just enough speed off to pump through them. She lunged her body up and through each bump, carving and thrusting her bike to accelerate, always keep her weight neutral for control. It was a finesse game, and one she excelled at. The rhythm section was next. Normally Jane carved around the deepest ruts, but this time she felt like going big.

Her boyfriend taught her the maneuver. Some cyclists called it a wheelie, but in truth, it was a manual. She lifted the front wheel up, her body and rear tire flying up and down each rut while her front tire was in the air. The mud slowed her down some, but her speed carried her through, mud spatter kicking off the front wheel into her thighs, under her body armor, and up under her helmet. She loved getting dirty this way.

She glanced further ahead, then cranked a few turns on her pedals. Not only did it give more speed, it kept her feet centered on the spiked platforms. When she reached the lip, she lifted her bicycle off the edge, tilting her handle bars to the side and simultaneously lifting one leg while extending the other. She carried the entire section and straightened out, her table-top air touching down perfectly on the gentle slope that had just been fifteen yards away.

"Go big, Jane Lane," she thought to herself.

The next jump was just a hair bigger, and Jane had more speed. This time she turned her bars the other way, throwing her body violently to one side with her legs tucked the opposite way they had in her previous jump. The bicycle spun with her, her head craning to the side until she saw the landing, then she straightened her head out. The bicycle followed her body, her handlebars once again perpendicular to the frame. Again, she landed perfectly, her bicycles shocks taking any vibration out of the landing. Jane loved the sudden silence of being thrust into the air. It was always too short-lived, but the jumps were always there, beckoning her to come play another time. The three-sixty was icing on the cake; a stunt she never attempted before on this particular trail.

The rest of the trail was mellower, so she reached down and flipped the switch on the camera. A moment later she squeezed both her brake levers and slowed down, finally reaching the base of the trail some ten minutes later. Her heart was still pounding in her ears when she pulled up to her car, a non-descript Volvo wagon with bike racks and what looked to be paint stains all over the rear bumper.

Jane rested her bicycle against the side of the car; tiny dings and scratches indicated this was not the first time this happened. She slipped her helmet off with one hand while popping the hatch open with her other, then stripped out of her body armor. She loved what it did for her, but off the saddle, it was about as uncomfortable as wearing cardboard boxes. The shin-guards were next, followed by her gloves. Everything was dropped as it came off into a couple milk-crates she kept in her car just for this purpose. Like everything else, they were covered in paint splotches.

Her bicycle was the last thing stowed. The front tire came off first; her hand deftly spinning the wrench holding the axle nuts in place. She used locking skewers on her other bicycles, but down-hilling required more robust hardware, a lesson she painfully found out several months ago. The front tire ended up in the back with her armor and helmet. When Jane lifted the frame up, she delicately centered it in the racks. First the forks were locked down, then she cinched the straps down to hold the rear tire in place.

By the time her heart-rate was normal, Jane was sitting in the driver's seat with the engine idling. While the old clunker warmed up, she pondered the ride; it wasn't a particularly long one, nor was it the fastest. It wasn't even what one would call the most extreme regarding the terrain. What made it her favorite was the way it felt under her wheels. There was a deeper connection here, probably stoked in part by the views the ride afforded over the ridgeline and across the top of the trail.

When she eased her car into gear, a smile slid across her face. She was living her artwork.


End file.
